Birdie

The air has grown colder and colder with each day that passes as Autumn sets itself into full throttle. Though the air is colder, hours out in the sun while dressed in light armor is still enough to have sweat dripping from my face and neck each day after school. It has only been four days since Anastas has begun training me but so far, he's had me sore and drenched in my own sweat after each practice.

Though we agreed that I should have my school work completed before we train, the only opportunities he has to train me is right after I return from school, which is not a problem seeing as Pierre won't even glance at me any more. While Anastas refuses to train me in anything immediately useful, the exercises he has me do are vigorous and challenging.

Distance running and pacing myself, as well as stretching, high jumping, and dropping down to my feet to my stomach have all become routine workouts and each day I get a little better. I am sore and tired afterward, but I guess that's a challenge all on its own; to be so worn out and still push on through your days.

"Skye, come see me!" Anastas shouts toward me from our little training haven. How he knows I'm close is beyond me, seeing as I had just been on my run moments ago. Anastas has started me off each day with a long run from the Silversmythe manor to the village outside of Everstile, and then back to build up my stamina. We had both discovered that my stamina is just fine, but there is nothing wrong with improving what you're already good at.

I dodge into the small stable house and glance around. Anastas is nowhere to be seen. I creep forward, keeping my body low -just as my new mentor has instructed me to do several times- and keep my eyes moving. There's a flickering in the corner but I debunk it as a shadow. Anastas would not be so easily found out. Off to my left there is a small shimmer against an old fashioned suit of armor. I grin as I see a flash of pink hair and keep stepping forward.

"Found you!" I call and side step around the suit, grasping for the fairy but instead pull away a long branch with pink cloth tied to the end to simulate Anastas's hair. I only have a split moment to be dumbstruck before there's a quiet thud behind me and I'm pulled into a swift, graceful headlock. He must have been hovering up in the rafters. Anastas pulls me tight to him, my neck caught in the crook of his arm. I fight against him, clawing at his arm and try to pull away.

"Your entry was good," says my instructor cooly. "Your first mistake, however, was being too quick to assume. Your next was shouting and revealing your location. By doing so, you allowed me to capture you in a headlock- the likes of which you are failing to escape."

"Then lessen your hold," I mutter as I continue to pull at his arm and try and pry it off of me. His cold, muscular grip does not falter.

"If I were an enemy, I would not let go and I would be strangling you rather than holding you," he explains, his body like a brick wall as I struggle to get away. "You are going about it all wrong. You must not fight against me. You will comply with the enemy and lean back against him. All your weight against theirs will put them off balance. And for the arm, you must push it up from the bottom and slip out under it. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Try it."

And so I do, immediately falling back against my 'foe.' I slide both hands up against the bottom of his and push it upward, hard. My weight against his finally takes effect and he stumbles backward, his arm flying up and out. He recovers himself quite hastily but I avoid being put in the same position again by moving away from him with my body ducked low. I spin around and face him. His eyes are lit up with pride. He's actually proud of me.

"Like that?"

"Exactly," he nods happily. "I think that tomorrow we will start working on kicks and punches."

My heart swells. It isn't exactly the swordsmanship that I wish to learn but it's gigantic step closer to that if you ask me. We've only been at this for four days and yet he feels I'm ready. I feel inspired to do right by him and work as hard as I can.

"I won't let you down," I promise the elder man. He nods and we return to our training.



Later afternoon, something quite unusual happens. I retire to my bedroom to change out of my gear and into a nice, fresh dress. It's a yellow and orange sun dress that closely follows the theme of sunsets and soft colors. It's loose after my waist and twirls out as I spin. I tie my long, near black hair back with a dim orange bow. I check myself in the mirror and feel satisfied enough with myself to head down to dinner. I spin on my heels and a flash of gold hits my eyes.

I turn around again and the glinting finds my vision once more. The dying light of the sun as it makes its way beneath the horizon's edge is catching the golden lock at the bottom desk drawer and reflecting its shine through the room. I see the mechanical lock, the one that is undoubtedly Uncle Edwin's work, nearly every day but suddenly it dawns on me.

With a gasp, I leap toward my bed, tossing the pillows aside and wrinkling the sheets in the process. I look down at the items I had taken from the chest in Uncle Edwin's old bedroom- Odette's diary and the misshapen golden key. I grab the key in my fist and clutch it tight as I bound back to the drawer. I fall to my knees and practically slam the key into its slot. It doesn't go in at first and I'm left silently praying that it fits, excitement raising within me. Anticipation lines my thoughts as my fingers work diligently at steadily placing the key within the keyhole.

One more try, two more after that and then- yes! It clicks into place and I turn it as quickly as possible and slide the drawer open. It opens to reveal old yellowed paper with crude child's drawings, an old purple hair brush, and a small yellow butterfly hairpin. I find myself looking upon the items in awe, a sad sort of respect for the girl who is no longer here. I lift the hairpin into the light and with a seconds worth of though, I position it in my hair.

You still are here in the house, I think to her. It's an odd thing to do, think to a girl whom I'm not even sure is alive but I do it anyway. It brings a clam, soothing comfort to me that I just have to cherish. But you're so hidden away from us. Perhaps it is time you were brought to the open.

The hairpin in perfect placement, I glide from my room and down the stairs with such a happy demeanor that not even Pierre could get me down right now. None of the servants have gathered in the foyer, so I know dinner is not quite ready. I shrug my shoulders and slink into the kitchen. Surprisingly enough, I find my Uncle at the table, scribbling into a small journal type book. He looks up as I enter and flashes me a hearty grin.

"Good evening, my dear niece," he chuckles before returning to his writing.

"Good evening," I answer and though he's not looking, I curtsey to him. "May I ask what you're working on?" I walk over to him and rest behind him, peering over his shoulder at his work. It's a drawing of some sort of one of the mechimals. There are arrows pointing to certain gears and levers, some of which have been drawn to a magnified extent and have notes written next to them.

"I am making blueprints for the mechimals. I'm finishing perfecting the ones I have and then I will start on the new ones," he replies, his eyes never leaving his paper, but the happy tone to his voice is enough to warm nearly any heart. "Did you know that we have gotten five requests for mechimals in the last few days? Two oxen, a horse, and a hound dog!"

"That's amazing!" I exclaim and I hug him around the shoulders. I feel him tense up slightly and then he relaxes and presses into the hug.

"Yes and the work is nearly done. Pierre and I have worked nearly nonstop- the oxen and dog are all done and all that's left is the horse. We will ship them all out at the end of the week."

"I'm very proud of you- both of you." I tell him and I mean it. Though Pierre has done little more than glance at me in the last four days, I am happy that he is getting so much accomplished with my Uncle. It keeps him grounded and happy.

"Well, we're going to get more orders, I'm sure. I'll need to look into hiring a third worker, possibly." He sighs, setting his quill down. He places his hands against the long table and pushes against it to hoist himself to his feet. He rubs his eyes and stretches his arms behind his head with a long yawn. As he smoothes out his suit, I step away from him and towards the door.

"You'll figure it out, I'm sure. Anyway, I think I'm going back upstairs to read until dinner. If you could have Tinsley come fetch me when dinner is served, I would much appreciate it." I smile and saunter to the door, his voice following me.

"Yes, I think I can do that-" his voice stops short and the quiet causes me to turn back around, scared of the calm before a storm.

He steps in my direction haphazardly, but then stops suddenly, his eyes widening. His eyes, usually so hazy and glazed are no crisp and sharp with a furious focus as they catch hold of the small butterfly against the black of my hair. He grips his hands against the table behind him, trying not to near me. His body trembles and he mutters to himself. In this moment, my body seems as if it cannot move. I’m petrified and my body feels as heavy as stone. I cannot move even if I want to. Finally, Uncle Edwin looks up to me again. His eyes are filled with rage, but also a desperate curiosity.

I swallow my fear, and though I do so, the fear remains. The quiet, the calm before the storm, has already come and gone so quickly as if it were just a whispering wind on a summer's day. The quiet still remains but you can feel the force and power of the storm building and boiling up to the point where it is no longer a storm, but a hurricane. His eyes have now grown even sharper, the light reflected off every spectrum of his irises. The storm is here at last.

I step closer to the table in an attempt to cease the impending disaster. He reaches his hand out as I come near him and he mutters, “Elen-” he cuts himself off with a shake of his head, a hard and fast and violent action. Then he snarls at me. “No! You are not her!”

Everything begins to move rapidly. His hands are on me, gripping my shoulders. He shakes me hard and frantically. I try to grab at his hands and use some of my training but the shock of the situation has left me blindsided and confused. His eyes never leave mine and though I’m terrified, I dare not scream or lash out against his violent outburst. His nostrils flare and his mouth twicthes. As if he cannot think of anything else to do, he shoves me backward and I land flat against the large table. My back smacks against the wood hard and a thunderous like pain rumbles through my body. But I don’t even have time to whimper before my Uncle leans over and rips the butterfly hair pin off my head, pulling a few strands with it and leaving my scalp sore and tingling.. He backs away and closes his fist around the pin, looking down at the floor, still seething with anger.

It isn’t until I start crying, whimpering loudly in the empty room that he snaps back to reality. He hurries over to me, looking me over- eyes still sharp but void of anger. He carefully raises his hand to touch me but I back away from him by sliding back farther on the table. My back aches, my vision is blurred by tears of both pain and fear. “Skye,” he whispers as he trembles, “I’m so, so sorry. I t-thought you..”

I never have the chance to hear what he has to say for the rest of his appology. I leap to my feet and run through the house and up the stairs to my room, tears falling the entire way. I hadn't meant to upset my Uncle, truly. My intention had been to honor Elena and bring her hidden presence to light. In addition, the pin had just been pretty enough to match my dress. I hadn't any idea that he would even recognize the butterfly, much less snap on me for having it.

Though my back, eyes, and heart ache, I cannot help but feel that it is all my fault.I should have known better than to pry into the drawer in the first place. Uncle Edwin would never lay a hand on me and this is something I know to be true. But in the moment, his thoughts of his daughter had taken over and I do not place blame on him. I feel hurt and a little betrayed but I know it isn't his fault. And though I feel this way, I feel ashamed of myself. I unintentionally hurt such a wonderful man.

I curl up on my bed and shut my eyes tight, hoping to cry myself to sleep but I for the first time, I just can't sleep my sorrows away. I cannot even keep my eyes closed for I see the same, sad image every time I close them. Etched into the back of my eyes, the place where slumber is ensured by the dark, quiet solitude of the mind, is the image of the look on my Uncle's face as I ran away from him. He had looked so destroyed and ashamed and most of all- broken. I whimper, keeping my eyes wide open and stare blankly at the wall.